


Atonement

by indi_indecisive



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indi_indecisive/pseuds/indi_indecisive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How different would things be had Rodrik and Asher both escaped their determined fate?<br/>If Rodrik kept the title of Lord, and Asher became his Sentinel with a personal army under his command?<br/>Quite different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atonement

If Asher Forrester could have ever been anything more than what he already was, and what he currently was-- was often twisted in the eyes of not only the small-folk who lived in Ironrath and whom he was born higher than, but by his family as well. It would be Rodrik’s opportunity which would allow him be more than what he was or at least provide a masquerade of change. In fact, it was his brother who seemed the most inclined to see the better pieces and parts of his younger brother, and though he had known his brother to be brash and to raise ire for the simple hell of it; he recognized that Asher Forrester could be and would be more. 

What more could he be?

That was the real question, which hung in the air heavily, though perhaps it was the dull sky threatening rain which caused the sense of a heavy, foreboding pressure. Asher could become more of anything that he already was; he could become exceedingly savage, he could become passive. The latter seemed less likely. Rodrik Forrester was never one to be blinded or turn his cheek to how his brother was, what he could do; and he could see the potential in his brother, as their father had once seen the potential in himself. Many had disagreed. Rodrik had made a promise, which he intended to keep. 

He had considered if Asher would be happy with his decision, for even though Rodrik had recognized a change within his brother, he still played along to an intricate game in order to avoid provoking rage within Asher. He would not try and constrict Asher to the rules and mannerism Rodrik expected of his bannermen; though there would be standards. Yes, there would be standards, but already having lost his brother once before, he intended to not let that mistake happen once again.   
Rodrik would hold tightly to Asher’s neck, as there was no longer a leash to hold him by. 

Now that he was reigning Lord, he had decided it best to relieve Royland of his position as Sentinel and appoint Asher instead. As expected there had been outrage, little from Royland besides words of caution and warning; Rodrik could only guess as to what he was thinking. It had been more of a surprise for his mother, Talia; even the smallfolk had cheered their names in unison, cheered for the return of the lost son Asher Forrester and his sellswords for the upcoming war. They cheered for the announcement of that man becoming the right hand of his eldest brother whilst Talia and Elissa held their resentments. Resentments which caused Asher to question the reality of his “welcomed” return during the peak of war. 

Though he never allowed these doubts to show beyond forlorn looks at the displeased grimace of his mother during the announcement of his new position.  
When Rodrik had first went to deliver the news, it had been while Asher’s wounds were being tended to by the Maester. Asher spending the time with Maester Ortengryn letting his tongue loose with quips and flirtatious remarks, and he rose quickly and enveloped his brother into a tight hug. Even Asher had not forgotten the promise they had made many years ago within the Grove, the race which had followed after; and he was delighted to hear it would be Lord Rodrik Forrester and Sentinel Asher Forrester. Sentinel Asher Forrester had a better ring to it to Asher’s ears, and though he did not have the time to voice how pleased he was with both of their titles; as Maester Ortengryn had moved quick to separate the two with words of warning to Asher Damaging himself further. To which Asher had responded that he had “Been shot with more arrows in far more dangerous places.” A conversation topic which had caused a flush to spread across both cheeks of the men in his company. 

In the end it came to be that Rodrik was the Lord of House Forrester and Asher his active Sentinel. Days had passed before the two could sit and talk about it, their time consumed by simple and important tasks; and when Rodrik was open to converse it seemed Asher was once again sloshed and piled asleep with his warriors. There was truly much to discuss on either end, both harboring a curiosity as to what took place over the period of four years that had passed between them. They actively wanted to know what had changed and what had stayed the same, whether the air had stayed stagnant or freshened by eastern winds. 

Quite an interesting development with the two brothers sitting across from each other in the eldest chambers. The silence between them heavy, only interrupted by the crackling, crunching of the fire consuming the wood in the fireplace. Neither really seemed to mind the fire’s crackling or when the wood crumbled upon itself, as the fire ate away at solid wood and disposed of it to ash. In fact; Rodrik and Asher seemed content with staring into the fire in shifts.

Asher would look at the fire, chewing idly at the inner lining of his left cheek, and Rodrik would stare at his younger brother and study what had physically changed over the past for years. Then Rodrik would cast his gaze to the fire, his resting face nothing less than a thin lipped scowl, while Asher looked over his brother to see what all had changed over the last four years. 

Neither could find the will to speak, though both of them wanting nothing more to talk, but neither wanted to interrupt the fire’s talk. In the end it was Asher who had spoken, his voice light and cheerful, interrupting the crackling with elbows propped onto the table.

“So, you and Elaena, huh?”

“Yes. Me and Elaena...What about me and Elaena?” There was a hidden scrutiny against whatever games Asher was trying to play at. Though, Asher would have sworn that he had never played games, that his teasing breath was nothing more natural than breathing. It was bound to happen.

“You and her are a good match. A great decision, better than this one.”

“What do you mean?”

Neither man was completely blind to the imaginary strings which ran along Ironrath, becoming snagged in the string would send one falling to the dirt; Asher intended not to find himself in the dirt any longer. In truth Asher hated the position just as much as he loved it. He wanted to know if Rodrik hated and loved being a Lord, just as much as Asher did or if he merely ignored it. Casted it to the farthest corner of his mind and simply forgotten.   
In truth Rodrik hadn’t and he thought nearly the same about Asher, as Asher thought about him.

“What I mean is, you and Elaena are perfect. I always knew nothing would ever break you two apart. Like love sick pups! I often forgot you were two separate people back then.” Rodrik and Elaena’s betrothal had been something back then, it had been important for many. Yet, it had left Mira and Asher together, not that they minded much, as they were rather fond of each other. Much like Ethan and Talia.

“This decision? Making me your sentinel. Come on, Rodrik, aren’t you the one who’s supposed to think rationally?” 

He reached out, his hand flat against the table, and for the first time that night Asher’s forlorn look was directed to Rodrik. Undoubtedly there was fear. He needed the comfort which only a big brother could provide, something which he had once longed for in Essos. “Are you keeping old promises or do you actually believe in me?”  
A long moment passed and the question hung heavy in the air, Rodrik gaping around for an answer that would satisfy both of them. He did not want to give away all of his emotions, taking hold of the younger’s hand and giving them a gentle squeeze. At least as gentle as he could have. 

“Believe me, brother.”

“Believe me when I say it is both.” Rodrik would not lie, not to himself or Asher. As much as he wanted to uphold his promise, he also believed in Asher’s talents and wanted to be great alongside a man he knew could be greater. It was guidance what Asher needed, Royland had said so. Royland’s explanation had given light to his decision, Asher had grown to be a man of exceptional skill, still there was something more to him which made Royland visibly fear. 

“Believe me, brother. When I say I want to be great with you. Believe me when I say, I would no sooner give up my Lordship than regret this decision. You will make an excellent Sentinel.” 

Soft words were like magic to Asher’s ears, he could not recall the last time Rodrik had spoken to him this way and reassured his worries. It had always been Mira, how he missed her; how they both missed her! Between them passed whispers of having Mira return home, and Asher was quick to offer his service in retrieving her. Of course it would have to be later; after the conversation about Rodrik’s sanity, appointing his own kin as sentinel. Perhaps it would not have been too strange if it were any other house. 

It was House Forrester. Anything which happened under the banner of Forrester was strange and often scrutinized by another, more often than not scrutinized by House Whitehill. More so now that they were at war...was it even war? It seemed inevitable the war would end soon, the victor uncertain.   
Was it uncertain or merely clouded by hazy judgement and boasting squeals of a fat pig fattened only to die?

“Alright. Alright, Rodrik. No need to start begging me to keep the title.” The twitch of his lips upwards that could hardly be described, save for four words; that fucking Asher grin. Asher turned his head away, focusing on something greater-- he’d been thinking about tomorrow for the longest time in his life. Was four years truly that long? Before his exile he had never really thought about tomorrow, it had always been then and now; though it still was then and now, he thought about the future a lot more than before. 

Rodrik had always thought about the future. He had no trouble thinking and worrying about the future, Asher just began struggling to see it all.   
A man of action, Gregor had called him, and it would forever ring true that Asher Forrester was a man of action. He had never seen a point in waiting, hardly holding restraint in the midst of battle, nothing left to ground him save for the axe or blade in his hand and the feeling of blood against his face. Of flesh ripping, tearing apart-- perhaps he was not supposed to be a man of future-sight, but Rodrik was. That’s why they would make a great team, deciding it together in the silence of their conversation. 

Ever so quickly the conversation turned to more light matters. 

They talked about Asher’s travels and the adventures he had in Essos. Asher spoke of many things; how he had come to meet Beskha, who he often referred to as sister and left Rodrik queer, but ultimately welcoming of his brother’s decision. Once that story was finished, Asher talked of the more interesting jobs they had taken together, and to embarrass his brother he talked about whores and lovers. Rodrik was riveted in these stories, finding himself laughing or smiling in the lighter moments, frowning and cursing over his brother’s hotheadedness in the darker, more dangerous ones. 

He could never control Asher, Rodrik realized, he could never make him feel like he lived under Gregor’s rule; he could not be that cruel. 

Then it was Rodrik’s turn to share. Asher reached across the table and took hold of his brother’s hand, to which Rodrik drew back. Only held still in his action by a gentle squeeze from the younger. Physical contact had been missed, so much so that Asher leaned over the table and wrapped his arms around his brother. He did it quickly, a limber body barely avoiding spilling their cups of ale, muscular arms wrapping around his brother’s shoulders in an awkward embrace. With the table digging into either man's’ frame, Asher planted a sopping kiss on Rodrik’s forehead, more affectionate ones peppering his cheek, then pulling away. The table shook from the sudden weight and Asher leaned back in his chair with a grin larger than life.

“Come on, brother.” He said, watching as Rodrik wiped away the spit he had left behind. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. Regardless if it’s late now, I want to know. We can sleep later. We have to get used to sleep deprivation, now that you’re the Lord-- I’m quite glad you’re the lord.” 

Rodrik was glad too, if the scowl on his lips had anything to say, as he fervently wiped away any residue he’d missed in the first attempt to clean himself from the affectionate assault. Rodrik was happy, regardless of the scowl. If he hadn’t been happy, he wouldn’t have goaded back.

“Aye. With the amount of whore’s you’ve been with, I’m sure you’ll be just fine without sleep.”

Leaning back into his chair, straight and proper as he watched his brother with the slightest curling of his lips to remotely suggest that he was happy with the banter. He talked about Giya, how the girl had missed Asher, how she had gotten married and was with child. Asher had interjected to give congratulations, pouring himself more ale with the excuse he had to drink for her, her husband, and child. He had poured Rodrik another drink but he ended up drinking that too. Rodrik talked about the four years that had passed, what Asher had missed. Asher listened as eagerly as Rodrik recounted everything. 

The conversation fell when Rodrik began speaking of the red wedding. Of their father’s death. Both men grew somber, and again came the crackling of the fire, the faintest wisp of wind wrapping against the walls of Ironrath. It seemed suddenly that the room had grown colder. 

Asher was quick to rise to tend the fire, squatting down and taking deep, steady breaths as Rodrik continued his story. Rodrik’s voice low and drab, it was barely heard above the dying embers and the winds. He recounted all he could remember, the moments before and after, waking up in the corpse cart and seeing their father’s body. Cold and still. Rodrik kept his eyes trained on Asher, watching his little brother experience an interesting range of emotions. 

Asher’s face contorted to regret and he jabbed at the fire, which began to grow, roaring in protest at his prodding. The fire flickered, dimmed, it made the shadows in the room dance about-- becoming larger and illuminated the face of Asher until it seemed he himself were the fire. For a brief moment, Rodrik swore he saw flames become the replacement for Asher’s hair, his body nothing but coils of wood, smoke, and lashing fire. Rodrik blinked, shaking his head and looking away from Asher as he finished tending the fire. 

“I was a fucking fool, Rodrik.” Asher spoke as if he had accepted this. Like he had known this long before the story of his father’s demise had been shared. “I was a fucking fool to do what I did. I hurt him, Rodrik. I forced his hand.”

He had wanted to hurt his father then. He had never wanted to force his hand, save for Gregor forcing his hand to control the small-folk and Rodrik’s friends who had often bullied the other members of their family.

“You have a chance to redeem yourself.”

“Do I?”

“You do, Asher.” Rodrik watched Asher as he doubted himself, doubting himself because of the way their family looked at him. The family which seemed to see him as a disappointment. In the end, it was Asher’s decision, and Rodrik was surprised he had not rejected the idea. 

At least he had Beskha and the pit fighters he had become close with, though the events on the boat stayed more than a mystery to Rodrik. 

“I-- Alright, Rodrik. I can’t argue with you. You might cast me and my men out.” Asher snorted, happier now. Sadness lay lurking. “Which would really be shit. It’s getting colder. Ah, I should go now, unless there is more to discuss?”

“No. There is nothing more.” Rodrik wondered where Asher was going, why he wanted to leave so quickly, but he made no motion to stop his brother when he stood from the chair. He was tired himself, and he doesn’t voice the question of ‘why’ when Asher finished both of their cups of ale. He did not think to question as to where the younger was going when he sauntered out of the room with a tipsy swaying in his hips, going to the left instead of the right where Rodrik knew his quarters were. 

Overall the conversation had been a pleasant one. It left the feeling of welcome, and planted the seeds of a beginning rise of acceptance within Asher. For Rodrik, it had been confirmation that he had made the right decision in proclaiming Asher as his Sentinel. Rodrik would not lie to say that it would be something akin to a challenge in shaking off the memories of their past, to give Asher a clean slate-- it would become easier to do because of their conversation. 

Asher Forrester, his little brother, had grown into a man of charisma and skill. A man who he expected the best of. Though disagreements would be ever present, Rodrik hoped not more than he expected with a Lord like him and a Sentinel like Asher. 

Could they survive this war? Could the house handle the toils?

Certainly they could. It should survive, for what were the Whitehills but a suckling pig, feeding from the tit of Forrester land and trees? Which House Forrester cared for with more tender love and consideration that the Whitehill’s could ever provide. Losing this war would be a disgrace to their ancestors, to the very secret which Rodrik debated on spilling to his brother; especially answer honoring him with the title of Sentinel.

In the early morning, Asher found himself unable to succumb to the enticements of sleep. Regardless of Beskha being by his side, her shallow breathing, the gentle rise of her chest more than a familiar force to guide him into sleep. He lay on his back, staring idly above him, reaching underneath the sheets to take hold of Beskha’s hand. How anyone could sleep alone was pure mystery to him, wondering if Rodrik slept besides Elaena now.   
Of course Rodrik and Elaena’s relationship was different than Asher and Beskha’s.

Asher gave her hand a squeeze, closing his eyes to trick himself into matching the slowness of her own breath. No-- not lovers. They could never be lovers, regardless if Asher had once longed to have her heart. That had been the past, a very long time ago, and Beskha held no interest in men. He was content with what they were.

What were they now?

Truthfully, Asher wasn’t certain what they were. He understood it was not like Rodrik and Elaena, yet they could die for each other. Asher would do anything to secure Beskha’s happiness, and he believed that she would do the same for him. 

Opening his eyes, he stared absently above again, and he swore he saw his father’s face. Wondering if the expression of his father’s image was scolding or if it was happiness to see that his second born had returned home, Asher felt saddened. He could not be certain. He had imagined the face, that face of his father was not real.  
Was this the right thing to do?

A frigid, fine rain began falling.


End file.
